


Reality's Hard to Swallow

by Asauna



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Death, Funeral, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asauna/pseuds/Asauna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hamish is about Eight in this. Sorry if there are any typos. I kinda speed-typed this for a friend who now wants to gut me from the inside out for it. XD</p>
    </blockquote>





	Reality's Hard to Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> Hamish is about Eight in this. Sorry if there are any typos. I kinda speed-typed this for a friend who now wants to gut me from the inside out for it. XD

"Auntie Hudson" was what Hamish called the woman who often watched him when Sherlock and John were off on a case, or were busy, or perhaps having a domestic. She was often home, if not in the shop. So she would steal the boy away and show him how to run the small place. Make the bread, run the register, help the customers. And he'd begun to grow there. Two years the boy had been a part of their lives, and two years he had caught their hearts in a tight vice. He was brilliant, almost as much as Sherlock. But he held John's composure. He was outgoing, kind and helpful, even if there were times he was unsure of what to do. But he was a growing boy, and that was acceptable. 

He had more of an affect on Sherlock than he did John, one would think. Sherlock had stopped using entirely. Even John couldn't get him to cut his habit. But this boy who fell into their lives had. He'd also, with John's help, gotten him to be a bit more sociable. Sherlock didn't piss everyone off if they decided to have an evening out as a family, nor did the entire yard despise him anymore. They knew something was changed with him in the beginning, and it was only when Hamish had gone into the building with him and John one day to visit Lestrade, did they understand. 

And that was why it hurt him now, more than anything. Hamish was safe, perfectly still and wonderfully oblivious. But he wasn't. He eyed the hospital upon his exit, skin pale and eyes hollow. His chest heavy, uneasy and unsure what to do. Lestrade had offered to take him home and to give him company, but he outright refused and cursed the others existence before storming out. Mycroft was currently on call with the DI, who watched Sherlock slip into a cab from the entryway. 

John was dead. 

His mind raced over that simple sentence as he sat in the back of the cab, everything within him breaking down piece by piece. John had become everything. His heart, is mind and part of who he was. It wasn't as if he could lock himself away either, considering the bubbly little boy that was most likely covered in flour and grinning to customers. He had just turned ten, and that innocence was still a big part of his life. With this news, he knew that was going to change. One didn't lose a member of their household and be alright with it. He had often found Hamish curled up on John's lap, dozing with a book in John's hand during the first year together. And towards the second, he and John spent a lot of time working in the kitchen, or performing their own little projects when Sherlock was busy or couldn't be asked to care. 

John was the center of the household. And without him, it was going to fall apart, much as he was right now. His fingers burned for the needle to calm his mind and rid these feelings. He always knew thy would be the death of him. But this was something he couldn't have expected. 

He hadn't even noticed they were outside the flat, the cabbie telling him three times until he heard. Tossing the fare to the man, Sherlock stepped out of the car and peered at the building. It was home, but it certainly didn't fee llike it. All he could think of was John. And each second that passed crushed him more. But what was worse was the feeling that struck through him when he saw Hamish through the window of the shop, the boy coming outside quickly despite having been in the middle of helping someone. Hamish ran up to him, tossing his small arms around him and almost knocked Sherlock over in the process. 

"Pop-" He started, excitement in his voice as he was going to tell Sherlock of his day so far though he paused, peering around. "Where's Papa? Didn't he go out with you today? Oh! Is he inside? I want tea." He chimed, grinning widely up at Sherlock who felt absolutely blown away by the child. Hamish was happy. He was smart, strong, naive and a child. And he was so very lucky to still be that way. 

"I.. He.." Sherlock trailed off, watching Hamish's face twist a bit in confusion, the child obviously noticing that something was off. He'd never really seen this father broken up like this n the last two years. Sherlock always held his composure unless he were angry. Then he'd shout and throw things on occasion as kids from his school would do when they were upset. But sadness? No. That was a new emotion. "Pop..?" He asked carefully, brows coming together, fingers clutching a bit tighter at Sherlock's coat. 

The man took a slow breath and knelt down, putting his hands on the boys shoulders, thumbs working over them a small bit. He wasn't sure what to do. He honestly had no bloody idea what to do or to say to Hamish. But the truth wasn't an option. Not yet. "He's.. He's gone away for a while. Not far." He said carefully, watching a small bit of relief wash over Hamish's face. "When's he comin' back?" The child piped up curiously, his smile coming back to his face, thinking that maybe they could surprise John with a small 'welcome home' party. He did like a good party. 

"He'll be back soon. I'm not entirely sure when. But you'll see him soon." Sherlock uttered weakly, his throat burning as did his eyes. Oh, human emotions were tedious. He reached out, arms grabbing the boy close, large hands spreading out upon the child's back whose arms were quick to hug him around the neck. "And you know he loves you very much, right?" Sherlock asked quietly, earning a small nod from Hamish who was nonethewiser. "Yup! Just like he loves you too, Pop. Can I give him a call later on? I want to tell him everything I did today." Hamish hummed, feeling Sherlock squeeze him a bit who merely nodded his response. He didn't trust his voice at the moment. Tedious. 

Mrs. Hudson watched from the window, a phone to her ear as the elder Holmes had gotten into contact with her, a hand over her mouth. Obviously, she was getting the news as well, watching Sherlock latch onto Hamish as if the boy were life itself. But for him, that's exactly what Hamish was. Just as John had been in the beginning, he was all he properly had to live for. 

Sherlock had allowed Hamish to call John for the next few days. Each time, the boy would leave a silly, drawn out message to his voice mail that crushed the detective even more, every time it occurred. The woman also worked to keep an eye on the boy as Sherlock uneasily set out funeral arrangements. Harry had been contacted, as well as John's parents. He knew Mycroft would attend, Lestrade and Mike Stamford. Molly and Sarah would be there, too. A small funeral. But that's how one would have preferred it. John was a simple man. 

"We're going to see him now, Hamish. And remember, this is the last time we can." Sherlock offered softly, holding the hand of the boy that had finally come to learn the truth two days before. He and Mrs. Hudson had had a sit down with the child, explaining to him that John would never be coming home again. Sherlock had to keep it off, until he was sure he could sit there with a straight face and allow Hamish to process things in his own way. 

The boy, whose eyes were puffy and wet nodded weakly, clutching at Sherlock's and as they walked into the church, wandering over to the open casket where John laid. He looked beautiful, those doing the touch-up work having done a fantastic job. He looked as if he was just resting peacefully. But Sherlock remembered the scene so vividly in his mind. Blood everywhere, two bullet wounds to his chest, and John latching at him, beginning him not to leave and to stay with him. And he did, until The paramedics had arrived and ripped John from him who died during transport. 

"Pop..?" Hamish whispered, lower lip trembling, peering up at Sherlock with glassy eyes. Sherlock peered down at the boy, not speaking though nodding faintly as if to let Hamish know he had his attention. "You won't let this happen to you, right..? I-I won't be alone, right....?" He asked, voice trembling. He knew what Sherlock and John did was frowned upon by Mrs. Hudson. He'd often heard the woman tease them of their job, asking them to stay out of trouble. But he didn't know that this was what she meant. He didn't know that they were putting themselves into.. Into this danger. "I don't want you to go too.." Hamish whispered before he properly broke down, sobbing gently and stealing his hand from Sherlock's to cover his face. 

Sherlock's heart broke for the umpteenth time, reaching down quickly to pick the boy up, cradling him close. "No, I'll always be right here, Hamish. Don't you fret." He offered softly to the boy, rocking him gently. A hand touched his shoulder, peering his head over to look at Lestrade, the DI giving him a weak smile of reassurance, almost. "You'll never be alone, Hamish." Sherlock murmured softly to the boy as he turned to go to their seat, pressing a small kiss to the side of the boys head, rubbing his back as Hamish latched onto the lapels of his coat and pressed his forehead into his fathers shoulder. "P-promise..?" He whispered. 

"Promise."


End file.
